Incapable
by Genetically Insane
Summary: Matthew needs ask Francis an important question, and it's something he'd never though he'd ever hear. Francis/Matthew, Human names used only. Angst/Romance. T for suggested sex
1. Chapter 1

"Are you incapable of love, Francis?"

The Frenchmen was shocked. Beyond shocked; flabbergasted. Appalled even! His boyfriend of 4 years, his beautiful young Mattieu, the Canadian angel, asked him such a question. And with such a serious face, too…

"Mattieu, of course I-" he started, but the younger man immediately interrupted him.

"I know you're perfectly capable of romance, of passion and lust…" he paused to look at the floor, before looking back into his lovers eyes. There was no telltale blush across his face. He was as serious as a funeral. "But are you capable of being _in love_,"

In love? Francis didn't have anything to say about that, not completely sure about what he meant.

Shifting in his seat on the couch at his lover's elegant home, the Canadian continued. "I know I'm in love with you Francis, but… I don't know if you feel the same." He said flatly. "The Francis I'm in love with is the one who shows up around his friends, or those cold nights where we just sit and watch a movie, holding each other." A blush crossed his face for the first time during those conversations. "Those… Those nights where we have sex, and it isn't just passion and lust and hormones; where you're gentle and you take your time. Most of the time you just rush as if your goal is to make me- uh- c-cum."

Finally speaking up for himself, Francis questioned, "I don't understand what you mean, mon cher."

With a sigh, Matthew looked to the floor. "Do you…" his voice hitched in his throat. Closing his eyes, he tried again. "Do you act very romantic, loving, uh, pardon me if this offends you, but when you act like a stereotypical French Casanova, do you do that, because you want to see me happy, to see me smile and show that you care for me, or do you do it because you feel it's your obligation?"

"Of course I do it because I want to see you-"

"Don't lie!" Matthew shouted, whipping his head up and burning his intense indigo eyes at the man he loves. He felt tears start to form in his eyes and he looked away just as quickly as he looked up. "Don't just say things you think you want me to hear."

The Canadian's words where cutting into Francis' heart and mind. It was getting him thinking about his actions and his reasons behind them. He immediately thought to last week, the last time they went out. Matthew was the normal, shy, beautiful person he always was. What brought all this on?

As if reading his mind, Matthew answered his unasked question. "I went out for dinner with Ludwig and Feliciano the other day." He started. "The way they acted was so…different from us. They truly love each other. Feliciano had acted so silly, trying so hard to made Ludwig smile. You've known him longer than I have, you know how hard that is. And Ludwig, he complied to every single immature demand Feliciano wanted, just so that he'd be happy. And… it got me thinking about you and me." By now, tears where falling down his porcelain face.

Before the older blonde could think of something to say, his boyfriend stood up from the couch, wiping the tears off his face, only for them to be replaced. "Mattieu…" Francis whispered.

Looking at the Frenchman one last time, his hair falling in front of his eyes, he said, his voice quivering so much, it was a wonder he could even speak, "I am in love with you Francis, but until you can say the same about me…" he paused to take a deep, shaking breath. "…Until you can say the same, we can't… We can't be together."

Turning on his heel, the Canadian left the house, waiting until the door was closed behind him before bursting into tears.

Francis looked at the closed doors, placing a hand over his heart which felt like it was tearing apart. He felt something wet drop onto his hand, and in seeing a drop of liquid, he reached up towards his face and felt warm tears pool out of his eyes.

Letting out a choked breath, he thought about what Matthew had said.

He thought long and hard, just thinking. For hours he sat on that couch, and every second of those ours the tears would not stop flowing.

Thinking now, a lot of the things he did because he felt like he had to. For example; sneaking over to the young man's home in the middle of the night after getting text messages saying 'I miss you. :(' to have sex. And show his passion for the Canadian whenever they where within a large group of friends.

But those nights Matthew talked about. Why did he act so differently then? Those where days where Matthew was incredibly depressed because of one reason or another. Those where days where they hadn't seen each other for over a week and just needed time together.

Those where days where they had thought, "Just us."

_Maybe_, the Frenchman came to a conclusion. Maybe his lover-… ex-lover was right.

Maybe he was incapable of being _in love_.

But his shattered heart disagreed tremendously.

Getting off the couch, not bothering to clean himself up to seem presentable to the rest of the world, Francis Bonnefoy grabbed his car and apartment keys and ran after _his_ Matthew Williams.

_**To be continued?**_


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew sat curled up on his kitchen floor. He'd attempted to make pancakes, his comfort food, but only could remember days he'd made pancakes for his love, or when he in return would make any meal for him. Oh, how he would miss the gourmet's cooking…

He couldn't help but laugh at his musings. "I'll miss more than that…" he sobbed out loud. He was starting to think that what he did was stupid. Everything he did was stupid. The only person who seemed to see him was Francis, and when he did, over time he got so many great friends. Arthur, Gilbert, the Vargas Twins, Antonio… And what did he do in return? Dump the man while questioning his love.

"I'm such an asshole…" he muttered before bursting into sobs again.

A knock came from his front door, startling him, slightly. A light bark came from somewhere in the small apartment, as if to ask, "Who?"

Matthew stood up quickly and wiped at his face, although perfectly aware that it would do nothing to make him look presentable. Taking a deep breath, he strode to the door.

He pulled the chain from its place on the door and let it fall, not bothering to check who it was. He didn't really care, anyway. It was probably his Icelandic neighbor asking if he wanted some fish.

He opened the door and was immediately pushed back away from the doorway as someone pushed their way in, wrapping their arms around his thin figure.

Struggling a little, the Canadian thrashed against the unknown person as he watched the door close after a swift kick to it.

"Mon amour, cessent svp la lutte!" He stopped immediately at the voice. Unable to see his face, he was still able to recognize the long blonde hair of his lover-.. his ex-lover. Pulling away slightly to see each other's face, Matthew let out a gasp.

The normally strong and proud man who stood before him looked like a mess. Never in the four years of dating, in the six years they've known each other, had he ever seen Francis like this.

His eyes were red and puffy, tear stains still clear on his flushed face. His hair was matted and flew in every direction. Even his clothes, the elegant clothes that where always ironed out evenly every day, where wrinkled and unkempt.

Matthew opened his mouth to inquire about the man's image, but a finger on his lips silenced him. "Please, mon amore, you've had your time to speak. Please listen to me for…" He looked at the wall clock. "…half an hour?" He looked back into the wide blue eyes of the younger man in front of him. "Maybe less, Please, Mattieu."

Francis' eyes where pleading, begging, like a puppy who hadn't eaten in two days and you where eating a steak right before him. Despite the days events, the mental image of a hungry Francis-Puppy practically crying while someone was eating a fillet megnon in front of him, it made the canadian want to giggle. He didn't though, he knew this situation was too… not humorous.

Realizing he didn't answer the man's question, he just nodded. A small smile twitched at Francis' lips before he pulled the boy along and sat on the couch, pulling him down with him.

Grabbing his hand, the Frenchman started to speak his mind, which he didn't do since often it would lead to his genitals getting crushed. "Mattieu, I apologies for this hurt I must have caused you, because of my actions," he started in a soft voice. "and you where right about some things, that some of the things I do are because I feel obligated, as your lover to do. But," he paused to grab both of Matthew's hands and grip them tightly. "that does not mean that I do not love you, mon cher. That I'm not in love with you."

Matthew's heart skipped a beat, suddenly feeling unbelievably guilty. How could he assume such things? How could he cause the one he loved so dear to cry and force him to have to tell him things he should have already known?

A gentle hand reached up and brushed away a tear that had escaped his eyes. "You had a right to question me, Mattieu. After all, I began to question myself. Do not feel bad about things already passed." With a mute nod, they enfulfed themselves in silence.

Matthew watched Francis as he sorted out his thoughts. His eyes remained downcast and dull, the flare of life they otherwise always had where down to rest, and he couldn't be sure if it was a bad thing, or downright horrible. He resisted the temptation to lean over and kiss away the older man's sadness.

"Do you remember the first time we made love?" Francis asked suddenly, turning his gaze from the floor back to the man in front of him. Immediately, mentioned man's face burned bright red from the memory. Francis couldn't hold back the small chuckle. "I'll take that as a _Oui_." He joked lightly. A small smile twitched at the edges of his pale lips. "Do you remember what happened before?"

The Canadian quickly turned his head away at the question, a quick stab of pain going through his chest. He, unfortunately, remembered the events very clearly.

"I do," he whispered, even though he knew that the Frenchman knew that he remembered. "…we weren't even together at the time." The memory played out in his mind, unnaturally slow. His first lover, Arthur Kirkland, making out with Matthew's twin brother, moaning his name whenever his mouth was free. _Alfred, Alfred, Alfred._ Matthew, not knowing who to turn to, went to Francis for comfort, and, one thing led to another.

"You were so immensely heartbroken," Francis stated. "I brought up our first time together, to some up most of what I do, my actions, my habits, et cetera."

Matthew looked back up at the other, and noticed the space between them had shrunk notably. Their hips where touching, and at some point, Francis had lay one hand on his knee while still able to hold both of his own hands within one of his.

Francis answered the unasked question, "I do everything I do, or at least most of it, because I feel it is my obligation, and my duty, to make you happy. As a result, it's what I want to do. That beautiful smile you show only me, it is far more beautiful than any rose in the world, it makes me want to fulfill my obligations, just to make you happy, to see that beautiful smile of yours.

"You're the most important person in my world, Mattieu. I do whatever it takes to make you happy, as I should, because as your self-proclaimed soul mate," He paused to let a wide grin cross his face, and to allow Matthew to let out an adorably feminine giggle. "it is my obligation, and my honour, to make your world as perfect as can be."

He couldn't hold back any longer; tears springing from his eyes, Matthew lundged himself at the older man, wrapping his frail arms around his neck. "Francis, je suis si désolé de vous causer faites beaucoup d'ennui, pour te faire le cri, pour faire une prétention si égoïste." He cried, planting desperate kisses on his love's neck. "Je t'aime Francis, je ne devrais pas avoir fait ce que j'ai fait." His voice began to crack as his sentence went on, breaking into sobs. "Even now, I'm being so selfish!"

"Shhh…" Francis cooed, wrapping his arms around his love. "Do not be so hard on yourself, please." He shifted to look into those wide indigo eyes he loved so much. "I told you before, even I doubted myself. So please, do not cry anymore." Not allowing him to speak again, knowing it would only lead the boy to more self hatred, he pushed his lips against his love's.

Too tired to fight anymore, Matthew just melted at feeling those wonderfully soft lips move against his own; the very same he thought not long enough ago that he'd never be able to feel again.

They parted only for a moment, staring into each other's eyes and breathing out desperately, as if their lives depended on it:

"I love you, Francis Bonnefoy."

"Et je t'aime, Mattieu Williams."

---

**Translations:**

_Mon amour, cessent svp la lutte_! – My love, please stop struggling!

_Je suis si désolé de vous causer faites beaucoup d'ennui, pour te faire le cri, pour faire une prétention si égoïste. Je t'aime Francis, je ne devrais pas avoir fait ce que j'ai fait._ - I am so sorry to cause you do much trouble, to make you cry, to make such a selfish assumption. I love you Francis, I should not have done what I did.

**Quick Author's note:**

I apologize for the rushed sappiness. Quite honestly, I started getting bored half way through. But I still like how it turned out, considering. If I didn't do it any other way, it would have been too conversational, not really entertaining at all.

Also, there is one more part to this. However, it will be in a separate One-Shot, unless the majority say otherwise. The reason for this is because… Well it would become very smutty and I would be forced to change the ratings.

Thank you for your support on the previous chapter, it really made me feel good to be writing once again.


End file.
